


You're Coming Undone

by pretzel_logic



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Community: rotg_kink, Dark, Depression, Dubious Consent, Forced Abortion, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Multi, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Torture, Violence, alternate universe - freeform, and its issues, and its many issues, lady death has a name, more tags to come, no one uses it, notice a theme?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretzel_logic/pseuds/pretzel_logic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death pays Pitch a visit after the events of the movie. It's the beginning of an unhealthy relationship that only grows worse. Desperate to escape, a pregnant Pitch turns to the Guardians for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissDoodle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDoodle/gifts).



> If this fanfic sounds familiar, it's because You're Coming Undone answers the same prompt on the DW rotg kinkmeme as Extinguished. So if you like that fanfic you'll probably like this one as well.
> 
> That said, my emotions about this fic are mixed. I pretty much started writing this fic to explore dark themes, world build, and try to broaden the scope of things I'm comfortable with writing. So this story goes places, very dark and sometimes strange places. Just warning you in case the tags weren't enough.
> 
> Also, special love to Esperage, random_sedan, and lechatnoir for encouraging me to post this off the kinkmeme.

Pitch wanted to get to North's workshop and his shadows certainly managed that. He was unsurprised by the rough landing but appearing on top of North's Globe? Why had his shadows chosen so noticeable and tenuous a position? He barely managed to not topple off the damn thing, uttering a curse sharply under his breath.

Out of the corners of his eyes he watched as yetis and elves halted in their work and mayhem to stare up at him. A few of them reached for weapons while others appeared to race off to find North. There was a quiet and subtle sense of fear in the air as the workshop grew steadily quiet. Briefly Pitch closed his eyes and took a moment to savor it. It had been far too long since he tasted fear in person.

"Balakirev's ghost! Pitch! You dare show face here?" North demanded, one of his swords in hand, waving it about as if he had no idea how to wield it. Pitch knew better; it was a well known fact that this former Cossack could hold off a small army with a bent steak-knife.

Pitch cautiously raised his hands in the universal sign for surrender and nervously licked his lips. He tried not to flinch as he tasted blood from his still split lip or think too hard about his appearance. Once the surprise of his arrival wore off he knew North would notice the pallor in his complexion, the black eye all the more noticeable for it. If the big Russian got too close he might notice the faint bruising around his neck and wrists, the threadbare edges of his robe. Pitch once prided himself on appearing immaculate; towering and untouchable. Now all he wanted was to be _safe_. What was pride and dignity when your life was one the line? When _more_ than your life was on the line?

"Oh, settle down you big oaf. I come in peace. In fact I seek asylum," Pitch explained. He hopped down from the globe to the floor and took as few hasty steps forward to maintain his balance. In his hurry to get to North's and avoid further injury he forgot about his injured ankle. You would think someone did not want him to escape. _Oh wait_.

North is close enough now to take in Pitch's appearance. Not surprisingly he looks less than impressed. "So you come here, to my workshop, after threatening all children with your fear because you have made _more_ enemies? Nyet, be gone Pitch. I will not help and I doubt others will after your stunt not so long ago. Whatever new trouble you have caused-"

What? Oh, North thought he got into a fight and came scampering here for safety after realizing he bit off more than he could chew. It was almost flattering that North still thought he could be a threat to anyone. Almost because it was too damningly far from the truth. Pitch was here because he could not even protect himself, could the fool not see that?

Pitch laughs then; broken and hysterical. Of course North does not see. He and the other Guardians, even young Jack, do not see. They _never_ see, so blinded they are by their self-righteousness and duty to the happiness of children. Oh, how he hates them and it sets his insides aflame that he must have their aid.

"I'm pregnant," Pitch says levelly, voice calm and matter of fact once he has calmed himself. Ah, how _wide_ North's eyes grow with surprise and _wonder_ at that little news. About time. "The father desires no heirs and I do not have the means to defend myself. So I ask once more for amnesty or will you have my further humiliation by _making me beg_?"

Finally, finally, North starts to use that surprisingly intelligent brain of his. "No heirs... Mussorgsky, surely you do not mean-"

"Are you going to help me or not!" Pitch practically screams, rage and desperation snapping his already thin patience. Shadows grow long and deep in the workshop as they started to dance to Pitch's no longer internal turmoil. Too quickly though the shadows fell still and returned to their pale natural shade. Pitch's vision blurred and swayed as he realizes too late he over extended himself. He had so little energy since his defeat by the Guardians, less since he became with child. Overexertion sappes at his remaining strength and his vision starts to go black.

"Damn you..." Pitch managed hoarsely before the darkness of sleep took him. 

~*~

Pitch can do little more than lie on the hard cold floor of his domain after his nightmares are finished with him. His very being, every molecule, aches down to his core. Defeat has left a bitter taste in his mouth. So close... he was so close to wiping out the Guardians and reclaiming at least some of his power from the Dark Age. If not for Jack... oh, the betrayal and denial of their similarities still cuts him deeply.

What did he do wrong? What was he still doing wrong to deserve the fate of constantly fluctuating belief and loneliness? Why did the Man in the Moon, his once constant companion, turn from him and deny him the recognition he deserved? For centuries, millennia, he kept humanity, children _and_ adults, safe. Fear was not the kindest way of doing so but it worked and it was all the means Pitch had. So why...

Why?

"Hello Pitch, I hear you've been naughty," a cold and cruel voice remarks as Death, resplendent in is red and black, looks down upon him.

"I take it back, I don't need to know," Pitch mutters under his breath. Loneliness and uncertainty in believers is better than Death's company.

"Death," Pitch greets with false cheer and smile as he drags himself off the floor. "To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company?"

Death chuckles but there was nothing jolly in his amusement. "Look at you, the once mighty Pitch Black, Nightmare King, brought low by a babe of a winter spirit and a few children."

Pitch glares, hate boiling within him even as he tries to keep things civil. No need to anger another spirit, not when he is so weak and drained. "The Guardians did most of the work."

"Not from what I hear," Death says with a smile that is entirely mocking. "Though I am curious about how you failed to kill Sanderson."

"I wasn't trying to kill him," Pitch explains with a roll of his eyes. Apparently Death would explain himself only after he'd satisfied himself with verbally assaulting the other. _Delightful._ "I needed him alive to use his sand, but I also needed him out of the way."

"Oh..." Death drawls out, his blood red eyes sparking macabrely.

Suddenly, Pitch is pinned to a wall; wrists captured in Death's right hand, the left exploring the inside of his robe, as a knee forces his legs open and rests uncomfortably beneath his groin. Death takes a moment to bury his face between Pitch's neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply, before raising his head so that they may stare at one another.

"You're so weak Pitch, so close to fading away now. I can sense the death lingering around you. It beckons me like the song of a siren. Become mine; after all, what goes better together than fear and death?"

What goes better together than cold and dark?

The reminder in this twisted proposal rankles Pitch. "Release me, Death. I have no desire for your company. Intimate or otherwise," he snarls, fighting against the inevitable.

"Oh but Pitch, you're all alone. The Man in the Moon has turned away from you, Jack rejected you, the Guardians have left you here to rot for your crimes. Even your own power has turned against you. At least I want your company. Do you not wish to be wanted by at least someone Pitch?" Death feigns sympathy as his free hand cups Pitch's face. "Do you really want to be left alone in this wretched place you call a domain to fade away? Forgotten like nothing more than a bad dream?"

Pitch closes his eyes and wishes he could close his ears to Death's words. He is too weak to physically deny Death's desire. His powers for the moment gone. Death has not accepted his verbal refusal. To deny the spirit further will only enrage him, make their coupling rougher than it already will be.

"Very well," Pitch agrees with resignation as he opens his eyes once more. "If you desire me so strongly then I am yours."

Death's smile is the devil's and so is his promise. "I'm going to hold you to your word Pitch."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note this story's AU because of background/world setting. I am not using book canon for the most part though there will be and are influences from it.
> 
> Also, some of the more unpleasant tags apply to this chapter.

With a gasp Pitch was awake, bolting upright in the bed he was moved to sometime during his black out. It was just a memory. A memory of how this whole living nightmare started - he was not ignorant of the irony- but, a memory nonetheless. He was safe for the moment at least, if the fact that North had not tossed him out was anything to go by. How long was he out? How much time did he have left before Arse- before Death started to search for him?

He needed more than a moment's safety. He needed the Guardians' sworn protection. He could not lose this child. Not another one, not again.

Pitch felt like this child was the only thing keeping him alive. It certainly saved his sanity, what little of it Pitch managed to scrape together. By the stars, he was a broken and wretched thing. Better his fate if he had just allowed himself to fade away, but self-preservation was at the center of fear when it was not mad. Fading away will have to wait until the child was born, until Pitch was sure Death could not harm it. Even if it meant reopening the position of Grim Reaper. It had been done before; once by Pitch's own hand.

If only he had the strength to do it now. It was not as if he had not already tried. Pitch learned quickly a second attempt was not worth it.

Forcing his thoughts away, it took far too much effort, Pitch left the simple bedroom to locate North and hopefully the other Guardians. This time Pitch's presence was noted without alarm, a single yeti breaking away from a workstation to guide him. Prisoner or guest? Pitched wondered, bowing his head in greeting at the hairy creature and waving for it to lead.

He heard them before he saw them. Instead of being gathered before North's globe like they had the last time he brought them together, the Guardians were in a meeting room. A chair each uniquely designed for a specific Guardian was located around a circular table with a large ornate G carved onto it's surface. Pitch rolled his eyes, North was just as bad as he was at going to extremes. Why was he the only one that ever got accused of being over the top?

"Ah, Pitch, you're awake. Good! You can explain better than I," North greeted obviously happy to be off the proverbial hook.

"What happened to you?" Jack commented as he took in Pitch's appearance. "You lose a bar fight with the Leprechaun?"

"Who _wins_ a bar fight against the Leprechaun?" Pitched asked in lieu of giving an answer. There was an extra plain and simple chair at the table but Pitch preferred to lean against a wall. Sitting would leave him too vulnerable.

Unexpectedly, Jack seemed genuinely amused by Pitch's backtalk. Even North chuckled heartily. Tooth however was watching him warily, as was Sanderson, but they each seemed to relaxed slightly as the other's expressed their amusement. The Pooka continued to stare at Pitch with an unreadable expression that had yet to change since he'd entered the room. He would keep his eye on that one.

"How much did North manage to explain?" Pitch finally asked when it became clear no one else was going to speak.

"Just that you were injured and seeking help. We hadn't had the chance to ask why before you came in," Tooth supplied.

"Ah, well that's easy enough to explain. I'm with child," Pitch answered bluntly, and took delight in the expressed shock that dawned on three of the faces present. The Pooka, disappointingly, was not among him. He remained impassive.

"What? Stop joking around Pitch. Why are you really-" Jack started, but Bunnymund interupted.

"He's not lying, Frostbite," Bunny told him softly. Pitched watched quizzically as the other Guardians, even North, relaxed at Bunny's confirmation. "Guardian of Hope and _new beginnings_. 'Sides, I can smell it."

Pitch nodded, accepting the explanation as truth.

"Wait-what? Seriously? But Pitch is a guy! How can he be pregnant!?" Jack spastically demanded.

The Guardians shared alarmed and panicked looks; like parents about to give _the talk_. None of them said anything but they were clearly encouraging each other to explain while refusing to do it themselves. Pitch smirked as he felt the age old fear settle in the room. What he would not give for Sanderson to be the one to explain.

Chuckling at his own wishful thinking, when it was obvious that no one else would step up to the job, Pitch mercifully took it upon himself to explain, "Well Jack, when two spirits-" he abruptly stopped. Normally the line continued with 'love each other very much' but that certainly was not the case for Pitch and Death. Death made a mockery of all emotions, capable of only sadism and possessiveness. Though he had shown great fear and hatred that one time...

"STOP!" Jack yelped just as Pitch stumbled over his words, masking Pitch's sudden halt. "I know how sex works! I don't need 'The Talk', especially from _you_! Just-No!" he emphasized this with a full-body shudder.

With a sigh that contained all his years, the Pooka rubbed his face before speaking up. "It's different for spirits Jackie. Male and female don't _matter_ to us. Crikey, among the Fey it aint strange for ankle biters to have multiple mums and das."

Jack stared wide-eyed and speechlessly at the overgrown rabbit. Entertainingly his mouth opened and closed a few times before words finally managed to escape. "So... even though I died, I could?"

Died? What was he going on about? When did Jack Frost die? Pitch looked around for answers but all the Guardians, Tooth in particular, seemed caught up in reassuring Jack that no matter his partner, he could one day have children. Frost's visible elation at the news made Pitch feel ill. He remembered having a similar reaction the first time Death's seed proved potent.

~*~

Pitch smiles as he stares down at his stomach and at the invisible life growing there. A child, he's going to have a child. Considering both its parents are male, the child is more than likely to be a boy but Pitch finds himself hoping it is a girl. A girl with his hair and Death's eyes would be an ethereal and gothic beauty. The fine dresses made from his shadows and the earth's jewels he could craft for her.

Not that Pitch is against the idea of a son, he will love the child no matter its gender. It's just, if the child is a girl Pitch can't help but think she would be more _his_ and less Death's. Since their first... sexual encounter, Death's comeliness has become his only praiseworthy trait. Everything else is something Pitch hopes his child does not inherent and if they do, something Pitch can raise them out of. One monster in the family is more than enough.

In any case, Pitch is obligated to inform Death of the child. While the birth-parent is entitled to custody by default, should he or she desire the child (and Pitch does so very much) the other parent(s) still have the right to help raise the child if they so choose. Pitch does not think Death will be interested but it is a custom among spirits even the Boogeyman must adhere to.

"What has you smiling?" Death asks suddenly, thoughts distracting Pitch from noting his arrival. The question sounds innocent enough, but Pitch is under the impression that Death merely wants to know so he can destroy whatever joy Pitch has found. Some days Pitch has the morbid curiosity to claim a butterfly beautiful just to see if Death will rip off its wings.

His smile wavers at the thought and suddenly he is wondering if he should ignore tradition and keep the child a secret a little longer. Death's visits are too frequent to hide the news forever.

"Pitch?" Death questions with false-concern, demanding answers. He tries so hard to subjugate Pitch, to bend and break the fear spirit to his will. Pitch might not have a choice in submitting to Death in the matter of sex but the grim reaper will never _own_ him.

"I-I'm pregnant," Pitch stutters out like a young wife around the sudden thickness in his throat.

Death goes still; completely and disquietingly still. Pitch has never seen him so motionless. Then, barely noticeable from the distance between them, Death's eyes widen ever so slightly in fear as stark terror _roars_ over Pitch's senses. He might as well have been struck deaf and blind for all the good his sight and hearing are in that moment.

Death is upon him before Pitch can recover from the sudden flood of power. Savagely, he knocks Pitch to the floor and starts to kick at him mercilessly. Pitch tries to curl protectively around his stomach but this just enrages Death more. Soon Pitch tires under the abuse, even with Death's fear still ringing in his ears. Belatedly he realizes Death has been screaming at him.

"I will have no heirs! No child I sire may live! You cannot have it Pitch! I will not allow it!" he yells over and over again like some crazed mantra.

"Arsenio-" Pitch tries to plead and receives a blow to the face for his troubles. His left hand is crushed and mangled when he tries to grab Death's boot.

Pitch left his stomach vulnerable. The unborn child does not survive long. He can tell Death is aware of the life passing by the way his shoulders relax and his attacks lose some of their ferocity. But still, Death does now stop, not until he runs out energy.

Pitch can't believe he is still awake, still alive. His child is dead.

Death, panting from exerting nudges Pitch until he is on his back and staring up at the blurry red and black through bruised and tear-swelling eyes.

"Never again, Pitch. Don't you ever carry a child of mine again," Arsenio Death threatens before leaving Pitch's domain.

Bloody and broken and alone, Pitch allows himself to mourn.

His child is dead.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so after a couple months of hectic RL, my poor beta has thrown in the towel and has admitted defeat. She simply does not have time to beta this fic. Therefore this chapter is un-beta'd and I apologize in advance for any errors.
> 
> HELP WANTED! I am in need of a new beta now obviously. Grammar is a must.

"Okay so Pitch is knocked up. That still doesn't explain why he's here. Does he want us to organize a baby shower or something?" Jack asked as the Guardians settled down from their distraction. Pitch was tempted to strangle the winter spirit for his levity but he needed the Guardians help. "And who's the lucky other-father?"

"I'm a mite curious about that myself. It's their job to help Pitch if he's having troubles, not ours," Bunnymund agreed, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are a _horrible_ representation of hope and new beginnings?" Pitch snidely questioned instead, growing weary of the Guardians' paranoia. "As for the _sire_ -" he did not come here to educate Jack on spirit customs and yet, he was. "-He does not know and I do not plan to inform him about the child. I came here for help in that matter."

"What!?" Tooth squawked loudly as the others, aside from North and an alarmed Sandman, protested as well.

"You're even ignoring this custom now Pitch?" Bunnymund growled.

"How can you keep this sire-guy away from his own kid?" Jack asked obviously bothered by Pitch's latest statement. Even when he wasn't trying Pitch seemed to have an amazing ability at riling the Guardians. "I mean what if he wants to be there for the kid?"

_Oh sod the Guardians help._

Pitch let out an enraged hiss and he stepped away from the wall, eyes focused on Jack. "You know nothing of the situation, Jack Frost, and your arrogant ignorance is far from flattering. The sire does not know because he will kill the child if he does," he said softly even as his rage was barely contained by the darkening shadows in the room.

Pitch could tell the original four Guardians now suspected who he was referring to but Jack just stared at him alarmed and horrified. 

"Are you certain?" North asked finally after his unusually long silence.

"He told me himself," Pitch answered, not lying exactly. Death informed him after- after it was too late to save the first child. "Death has no heirs."

~*~

It is very hard to kill a spirit, near impossible. The only two known ways is to either destroy humanity's belief in the concept, the core, of the spirit or use stardust. Humans will never stop believing in death, too harsh a fact of life to ignore and frankly, Pitch doesn't like the idea of death not existing. It is a risk he took killing the last Death. It is a risk he must take once more. 

Stardust is very rare however. As soon as a star crashes to Earth its powerful resources are scavenged by whatever spirits are within the area. Some of the older spirits, though none as old as Pitch, survive to this day by using stardust to remember humanity's belief in it. Last time Pitch took it upon himself to kill Death, it was the Dark Ages and he need only ask for the weapon made. 

He is far less fortunate now. None of the spirits that horde such a material would grant him it in fear he would use it against them or the Guardians. He does not need to leave his domain, still does not have the power to, to know the spirits of the world _fear_ the Nightmare King's 'madness'.

Pitch only has the handful of stardust he kept on hand for trade. It is barely enough to make a small stiletto. It will suffice. It has to. Pitch will not let Arsenio touch him again. He calls himself a fool for allowing Death to have him as much as he has. A false cure for loneliness does not justify all the liberties Pitch has allowed Death with his person. 

Arsenio is going to see why Pitch is known as the Nightmare King and not to be taken lightly.

"Are you still upset about the child?"Arsenio asks when he finally returns to Pitch's lair.

"How can you expect me not to be? That child was mine! Mine! You had no right- no right to-" Pitch screams, rage and grief choking his words. He desires so strongly to simple stab Arsenio and be done with the vile spirit but he must wait. He only has one chance, he must not waste it.

"I had every right. That child was as much mine as it was yours. 'Death' is a title that too frequently exchanges hands for me to risk children, Pitch," Arsenio explains clinically. As if his excuses are reasonable facts. "You, of all people, should understand my _fears_."

"I don't. If you did not want the child, you only needed to say so. There was no need to- to kill it," Pitch argues, watching as Arsenio walks all the closer to him.

"Ah, but the child would have still been mine acknowledgement or not. Worse yet, if the child grew up knowing I did not desire it, what hatred such knowledge could breed," Arsenio rebuttals, now standing barely arms length away from Pitch. His face is calm and practically blank. Pitch can sense no fear in him even though he now knows it exists. Death frowns suddenly, expression that of swallowing a lemon. "Would you make peace with me if I apologized for handling the news so poorly? For I am _sorry_ not telling my views on children sooner. That mess could have been avoided if I had."

" _Mess_? You consider _beating my unborn child to death_ a _MESS_!?" Pitch hisses as he steps closer to Death, rage fueling him at the impassivity in Arsenio's eyes. A smug, satisfied smile cruelly crosses Pitch's face as the stiletto finds its mark in Death's heart. "A _mess_ is what you're about to make of my floor."

Death's eyes look so surprised as he falls to floor, gasping for breath as he chokes on blood. "You dare-"

"I killed the last Death for less. What makes you think I wouldn't try to kill you as well?" Pitch says coldly, calmly. 

He is not happy... but perhaps he feels relief that things are settled. He turns away from Arsenio, planning to leave the dying spirit to his Nightmares to feast upon. Pitch barely manages to take a step before a vice-like grip grabs his one ankle and sends him crashing to the floor. Pitch is trying to understand how Arsenio can still be so strong while dying from a heart wound when the stiletto clatters a few feet away. 

Arsenio moves to pin Pitch to the floor his visage shocking. Red macabre eyes are wide with rage and promising a slow agonizing death even as Death bloodstained smile grows wide and manic. "You are going to pay for that," Arsenio promises, sounding more monster than human.

"How- I stabbed you in the heart!" Pitch demands. It should be impossible for Arsenio to still be alive.

Above him, Death chuckles madly. "I guess we just proved stardust can protect a spirit from murder as well as lack of believers."

Pitch is stunned. It almost makes sense for Arsenio, so terrified of his own possible end, to be paranoid enough to invest in an untested precaution. Failure tastes bitter on Pitch's tongue. Arsenio's mockingly intimate positioning over him turns his stomach.

"Get off me," Pitch snarls.

"No," Arsenio says simply as he starts to rip away their clothing. 

"GET OFF ME!" Pitch shouts before screaming as Arsenio penetrates him without preparation. "No!" Pitch struggles valiantly but he is too weak and Death has him well-pinned to the ground.

The pace Arsenio sets is fast and hard and pure agony to Pitch. Humiliatingly he starts to cry as the pain becomes too much. Death takes his tears as a sign of submission and releases his arms. Arsenio then focuses on leaving bleeding scratches and black bruises with his hands. Snarling like a wild animal Pitch returns the favor, hoping the pain will stop Death. It doesn't. Pitch screams again when Death's cum fills his damaged insides and the red head's teeth bury themselves deep in his shoulder.

Pitch barely has a voice left to whine once more in pain when Arsenio pulls out of him. Panting from exertion, Death still picks Pitch of the ground. Pitch is too hurt to do more than give a token struggle.

"Stop or I'll drop you like a sack of stones. It _will_ hurt and I _will_ pick you back up. This is the only mercy I'm offering you. Don't be a fool and take it," Arsenio warns.

Pitch spits in his eyes and scratches his face. Death drops him and Pitch hoarsely yowls in pain as promised. Roughly, Death picks him up once more and continues to carry Pitch towards one of the lower hanging cages. Almost gently Arsenio places Pitch inside before slamming the door shut.

"Do you really think my _own cages_ will hold me?" Pitch demands, throat on fire.

Arsenio smiles grows wide and manic once more as he touches the cage and murmurs some words- a spell. The metalwork gains an eerie blood red glow to it. Pitch can sense the shadows being closed off to him, whispers from the Nightmares silenced, whatever Arsenio cast effectively trapping him.

"I'll be back, eventually. But not before you're desperate for my return," Arsenio swears.

Pitch lets his unimpressed expression convey how unlikely he feels that will happen.

Arsenio laughs, gleefully sadistic. "It only takes a few days of solitary confinement to drive a human mad. I'll be generous and give you a month. Just call my name when you've had enough."

Death leaves and Pitch resolves to prove Arsenio wrong. He lasts three weeks. Arsenio does not return for another two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something to keep in mind, Pitch is old. ~52k old. His outlook on certain things like rape are dated. I think, as far as he's concerned, dub-con isn't even a concept to him and his definition of non-con is probably limited compared to everyone else. 
> 
> His opinions aren't mine, Pitch is just too old and removed from humanity to really be up to date on how certain things are viewed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no beta. That said. WOOHOO! The 'breather' chapter as I have dubbed it. You know, in case all the angst in the flashbacks from the previous chapters were getting to you too.
> 
> Oh! and a link to (all) the artwork Esperage did for Lady Death: [link](http://pretzel-log1c.tumblr.com/post/59808678372/ladydeath)

You're Coming Undone 04/?

It appeared that now that the Guardians had an opponent to fight things proceeded swiftly. Though they seemed to be under the misguided assumption Arsenio would give up if they hid Pitch and his child long enough. The idea was laughable but Pitch did not have the temperance to suffer through another round of questions he'd rather not answer. Better yet if he did not need the Guardians help at all but he was still too weak. Pitch did not have the energy to kill Arsenio and keep the baby. 

Now it was just a matter of letting the Guardians figure out where Pitch would stay. For obvious reasons Sandman's residence was out of the running and Jack did not yet have a place to call home beyond his lake. That left North, Tooth, and Bunny arguing over who would house him for the time being. North thought his place was too obvious, and it _was_ for reasons Pitch was not sharing - not yet-, while Tooth and Bunny did not wish Pitch near there homes after the time he 'visited'. The argument was becoming all very circular and Pitch was tempted to step in but Sanderson was 'signing' to him.

**Should I stop sending children dreams?**

Pitch frowned at the strange offer and obvious concern on the short rotund man's face. "What? No. What good would that do me? Doing that would only trade my weakness for yours and it'll become rather obvious you, and thus the other Guardians, are protecting me."

**You're weak Pitch. It's not healthy for you or child.**

Pitch rubbed his face, grimacing at the truth in Sanderson's words. He chose his child's life over gathering the energy to kill Arsenio but... that might not be enough. Sex might not matter in a spirit's ability to have children but not having the right parts complicated things. Not to mention creating a child was naturally energy consuming to begin with. Pitch... didn't want to think about it.

"You forget that the Nightmares are a _recent_ addition to my repertoire. Just- take me to a few Pysch wards. That should be enough," Pitch suggested, knowing he had to give Sanderson _something_ or Arsenio would fine him too soon, before the Guardians understood the full problem.

Of course they would know _now_ if he just told them but... Pitch didn't want to talk. He was _tired_. He just wanted to sleep, perhaps eat first, knowing he was _safe_ , _protected_. 

"What are you going to do there? Torture people with mental disorders? No way," Jack said, suddenly steeping into the conversation.

"I am not that cruel, Jack. I'm planning to treat them, of their fears anyways," Pitch explained, pushing away from the wall to hide the tremble in his hands. 

What did Jack Frost know of torture? Oh sure, he was left relatively alone for three hundred years and only recently gained believers but, that was not torture. Torture was being slowly broken mentally, emotionally, and physically. Jack knew nothing about torture. He never witnessed the witch hunts in Europe or the 'trials' practiced by the Spanish Inquisition. Jack was never tortured first hand. To think, he thought Jack was more knowledgable than this. Or at least not so openly ignorant.

"You can do that?" Jack asked, skepticism strongly shown on his face.

"Why don't you tag along and see for yourself?" Pitch offered instead of playing another round of Q&A with the boy. Focusing back on Sandy, Pitch raised his brow-ridges expectantly. "Well, shall we?"

Sanderson frowned at him but did not sign. He looked between Pitch and the still-arguing trio. Pitch sighed.

"Oh let them bicker. I'll be going to Bunnymund's Warren eventually."

"Oy! Now hold on, what makes you think for a bloody tick I'll let you near my Warren?" Bunnymund grumped, finally pulled out of his argument with Tooth and North.

Pitch made a show of studying his nails. "North's is too obvious. If Death suspects you're harboring me this will be the first place he looks. Also, considering the normal chaos perpetuating this place I hardly think it'll help my condition. Tooth's palace is equally chaotic and it's too open. There's not enough shade there. For all the sun the Warren gets it's underground and your helpers aren't exactly noisy," Pitch explained, sounding as bored as he could muster. 

The overgrown rabbit's ears went flat as he scowled. The pooka aimed a fist at him and opened his mouth- to argue or threaten Pitch would never know.

"It is settled then!" North declared, slapping one of his overgrown hands upon Aster's shoulder. "Pitch will go with Bunny after he and Sandy return. Sandy I take it you will ensure Pitch is up to no tricks, yes?"

Sandy smirked. **After last time, I'd like to see him try.**

"Very good! Now Bunny, Tooth, and I must discuss some things yet. Jack you are welcomed to stay or go with Pitch and Sandy," North said as he nodded his head and stroked his beard.

Pitch rolled his eyes. No doubt they would be discussing what to do in case He double-crossed them and how valid his claims that Death practiced, or at least threatened, infanticide. Pitch was not really surprised; it's not like any of them were the Guardians of _trust_ or _good faith_.

"I'll go with Sandy and Pitch," Jack declared and without further stalling Sandy used a cloud of dream sand to transport them away. 

Better than Jack's 'wind', Pitch suffered motion sickness rather easily these days and he wasn't even that far along yet.

\---

Pitch closed his eyes as he opened his senses to those within the homeless shelter. It was not his first choice but he understood Sanderson's decision. Many homeless were people with mental disorders that refused help or did not have the means to afford proper health-care. At least those within facilities had people looking after them.

"You look right at home here Frost," Pitch commented as he opened his eyes once more and headed toward the person giving off the most fear.

"Oh ha-ha Pitch. You're such a comedian. It's great you're so confidant in our help you feel comfortable insulting me already," Jack sarcastically responded, twirling his shepherd's crook, obviously uneasy at the condition people were in around him.

Pitch did his best to hide his amused smile from Jack though he was certain Sandy noticed it. "How can a simple observation be an insult? Now if I said you dressed like a slob, which you do, _that_ would be an insult, Jack."

"Shut up and pick a victim already," Jack groused, unamused but at least distracted. 

Pitch ignored Sanderson's knowing look. Instead he focused on his 'victim' as Jack suggested. The man looked like he had not bathed in years, smelled like it too. His clothes were most certainly in need of a wash, if they could survive the cleaning process. If Pitch was right the man was a schizophrenic; afraid of strange noises only he could hear and mysterious shapes only he could see. Pitch crouched down until he was eye-level with the man even if he did not have eye contact. Carefully, so as to not phase through the man Pitch rested a hand over the man's brow and focused on the fear contained within the man's mind; pulling it out of the man's mind and into himself. It was done within seconds, the man visibly relaxing, settling down peacefully onto the cot provided by the shelter.

"All yours," Pitch indicated with a wave to Sanderson.

"That's it? You cured him? Why not do this normally?" Jack asked, surprised at how _easy_ the process appeared.

"He is not cured, Jack. He has schizophrenia, his brain is still rotting even if his paranoia is gone for the time being," Pitch snapped. He was _sick_ of Jack's questions and the man's fear was not settling inside him, as Pitch expected. "I don't normally take away a human's fear because it is unnatural; for them and me. Humanity made me to bring them fear, and eventually nightmares. I am not meant to take their fear away. It is, however, another way for me to feed, if unpleasant and sometimes... sometimes fear serves no purpose."

Jack was blessedly silent for the rest of their time in the shelter. Pitch located another five suffering from paranoia or irrational phobias. Liked the first man, Pitch did not expect to be much help to the paranoid people. Now those with phobias, they had a chance. Sometimes all it took for their fears to end was one moment when they were not scared. The Guardians were unlikely to believe him, given their track record, but, he wished the humans he 'treated' in the shelter well.

They were not even half-way to North's workshop when Pitch's eyelids started to droop. Sandy's proximity combined with the distastefully filling meal beckoned Pitch to sleep. He fought it off as best he could until he saw Sanderson glaring at him.

**Go to sleep already or I'll make you.**

"Your gift for negotiations is astounding," Pitch replied dryly, his wit ruined by a yawn. Settling down on the cloud of dream sand, Pitch gave no thought to bad dreams.

~*~

He is young. One of the first spirits given human shape instead of animal or _other_.

"The previous fear spirit was a strange one. Lots of eyes, limbs, and teeth. Moved around like a jellyfish but less pleasant. You're lucky to not be like it," Anasi describes when Pitch bothers to ask one visit to Africa.

Pitch is immensely grateful. In the short time since his creation Pitch has seen first hand how strange the human mind can be. Their fears are perhaps the simplest and most straight forward thinking they have. He does not like to contemplate how he could have manifested.

Pitch protects the humans with fear and thinks of doing nothing else.

\---

It is hard to judge time beyond day and night and what time of the year it is. Still, Pitch guesses he is perhaps two centuries old when he first meets her. Death.

She is prettier than Pitch expected. Like him, she looks human though her more than him. She is dressed simply in a white flowing gown, rich dark brown hair tied back in a low ponytail. Her skin is unmarked by freckles or scarring. Eyes so dark in color they are nearly black stare emotionlessly at him. She holds the hand of a young man suffering a mortal and terrible gut wound. He has been dying for hours, it will be several more before he passes on. He knows his death is coming, can see her waiting beside him and is _terrified_.

"You are the new fear spirit?" She asks voice soft and light, soothing in a way he cannot describe.

"I am," Pitch acknowledges, brushing imaginary dirt from his shadow robe. Spirits, naturally, do not care for his company or if they do than Pitch does not desire theirs. He is nervous to discover which category Death, of all spirits, falls into.

Death bows her slightly, slowly, in formal greeting. She does not bother to introduce herself, there is no need. "Can you help him? I would have spared him this painful end but his fear of dying, of me, keeps him alive and out of my grasp," Death asks, using her free hand to maternally brush away the hair in the man's face.

"Take... away fear?" Pitch questions. He has never tried such a thing before. Is not sure he wants to. Fear is natural, it protects. It warns humans against the dangers of the world and their actions. A human without fear... the idea would frighten Pitch if it was not so short-lived a prospect. Humans tended to die when they ignored the cautionary warnings of their fear. 

Death is right however, here, fear serves no purpose. It is only prolonging the man's pain. 

"I will try," Pitch agrees as he kneels down on the vacant side of the man and takes his free hand. It is trickier than Pitch expects and it is only after several tries he finally succeeds. His face scrunches at the unpleasant taste now coating his tongue, equating it to eating a lemon starting to go bad with milk. He will not be doing that again any time soon even if it is filling.

Within moments the man is dead and Death is staring at him once more, a knowing look in her eyes and small frown. "Unpleasant? The last fear spirit said so. I was hoping it would not be for you."

"As long as you do not ask it of me often I will not mind aiding you so again," Pitch offers because he is enjoying her company and she does not seem to mind his.

Death is clearly startled by his offer but her smile is radiant with her appreciation. "I will keep that in mind."

\---

Time passes and Pitch finds himself spending more and more time with Death. He grows to love her but he has trouble figuring out _how_. Death is not sexual to him though she is beautiful. Nor is she a mother figure to him like she is to all the dying mortals she comforts in their final moments. It is more than friendship, something deeper and truer. Eventually, Pitch gives up on finding a definition for his love.

"I love you," he tells her one day as he helps to braid her hair as they have seen the humans do. His hair is too short for the new fashion but Death's attempts were amusing. 

She laughs, joyously and free. "And I you, little brother," she offers when she sees Pitch starting to grow embarrassed by his confession.

Oh, so that is the name of his love. He likes the idea of Death being his sister, of being family. He cannot feel happier.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still un-beta'd. still need beta. One more chapter and then I'm up to date with the kink_meme.

Sandy was focusing on directing his dream sand cloud _slowly_ back to North's workshop. He did not like the condition Pitch was in and he was not referring simply to the pregnancy. The fading bruising around the fear spirit's wrists and neck, the _implications_ worried Sanderson. Though the most damning evidence was how indifferent Pitch was, how casually he displayed the damage as if it was _nothing_. Not that long ago Pitch was obsessed with being in control or at least appearing to be. For Pitch to look so damaged, to not hide it, told Sandy more than anything that something was wrong.

Even if Pitch was lying about Death's threat to kill the unborn spirit, Sandy doubted he could abandon Pitch. It was too likely Pitch's relationship with Death was abusive, possibly worse. Sandy did not know enough about Death to make that call. Considering the spirit's occupation and the previous owner of the title 'Death', it was unlikely anyone knew much about the current Death aside from Pitch.

"Hey, Sandy, look," Jack said as he landed on the cloud and waved towards Pitch.

Glancing towards the Nightmare King, Sandy saw that some of his dream sand had started to take shape above Pitch's head. Once more butterflies fluttered above the boogeyman's head and having seen enough, Sandy started to turn away. However, the butterflies froze and the dream sand twisted. Alarmed, the guardian of Dreams crafted a sand whip and waited warily for a Nightmare to form. Instead the sand simply changed shape to depict Pitch and a woman. It was hard to guess who the woman was with the few details the sand provides. Sandy would guess Pitch's daughter, Mother Nature, but the hair is too short and tied back. Not Lady Luck then either.

What other female spirits were known to keep Pitch company?

"Huh, they look close. Did Pitch have a girlfriend once?" Jack asked as he watched the two golden figures interact.

Sandy frowned at the reminder of Jack's presence and the fact they were observing Pitch's dream. They were practically invading Pitch's privacy. Sandy rarely took the time to observe his dreamers and even then it was just to check that the good dreams remained good. While he would never mention Pitch's dream to others Sandy could not say the same of Jack. The fallen star was not even sure he should ask for Jack's silence. Sandy was a spirit for quite some time now and fought Pitch more than once, but, he didn't really _know_ the fear spirit. With Pitch under the Guardians' protection, perhaps it was time to change that.

So Sandy studied Pitch's dreams and considered Jack's question. He watched how companionable the dream woman and Pitch acted. Tried to hide his surprise that, in his dreams at least, Pitch could act happy without it being at others' expenses. Watched as the female kissed Pitch's forehead and he her cheek. The actions were intimate but platonic. 

**Family.** Sandy guessed.

"Yeah, guess Pitch is looking forward to being a father," Jack agreed though it was obvious Jack was still taking in the news of how spirits procreate. Sandy wasn't worried, if Jack could see the bright side of his death then Jack would eventually come to terms with this new information.

They traveled on in peaceful silence for a while, nearing the Arctic Circle when Jack spoke up once more.

"He offered, well, kind of, to be my family once," Jack admitted, nervously shifting his crook about. "In Antarctica. After Easter went bad and you were.... you weren't there. Pitch looked... he looked so defeated when he mentioned family. Do you think...?" Jack asked, glancing back towards the dreaming spirit.

Sanderson sighed and wondered where to start. The beginning would make sense if he knew what the beginning _was_.

Besides, even six hundred years later, Sandy did not like to talk about the previous Death. The end of the Dark Age... the birth of the Silver Age... it was a time few liked to dwell on. It also raised an uncomfortable questions about Pitch and the current Death.

Hadn't Pitch been like a brother to the former? Such bonds were almost sacred amongst spirits when true 'blood' relations, as humans defined it, were rare. Yet Pitch still killed his sibling and was causticly unrepentant about it. Sandy did not know how to convey the horror of those events or adequately explain the stigma it placed upon Pitch. Better to let the others explain why the Man in the Moon created the Guardians and ordered them to make an example of the Nightmare King. 

**Once Pitch had family.** Sandy confirmed finally to sate Jack's curiosity though he knew his delayed response and unhappy expression informed the winter spirit there was more to the story there. At least Jack knew to wait for more verbose Guardians to answer his questions.

~*~

Jack was the first to return to the meeting room, bursting the doors opened as he did so. Bunny frowned. It was a good thing the doors and walls were built for that kind of abuse from North and the yetis but that did not mean Jackie should be so rough on them as well. Boy was never getting near his googies again at this rate. He forgave Jack for '68 but '14 was going to take more than half a century to forgive. 

"Where's Pitch?" Tooth asked with a frown as it became clear Sandy was the only figure following Jack into the room.

"It's the Boogeyman's nap time as per Sandy's orders. He thought we'd need to talk without him looming near," Jack explained, Sandy grimly nodding beside him.

Jack was new to Sandy's way of talking but he was better than the rest of them at understanding the dream weaver's sand. Bunny figured it was 300 years of experience with trying to get ankle-biters to believe in you and playing with Sandy's sand.

"Ah, good. We were just finishing up talk about Death. Tooth and I will look into rumors. We need to be sure Pitch is not lying," North explained as Jack and Sandy sat down.

"But Bunny confirmed Pitch was pregnant. ... Okay, seriously, does that not sound weird to anyone else?" Jack demanded, face scrunched up in a strange mixture of confusion and disturbed.

"Jack when you've been around as long as we have, Pitch having a child doesn't sound that strange. We're more worried about whether Pitch's claims about Death are true. He's making a pretty serious accusation and Pitch doesn't have the best record with Death," Tooth explained as simply as possible.

"Huh?"

Bunny sighed and stepped in before North could get started. They'd be here forever if North started to explain things. "Pitch killed the previous Death spirit about seven hundred years ago. Not sure what started the fight but the two went on the warpath from Asia to Europe, caused the Black plague and got a _lot_ of humans killed. It's what pushed the Moon to create the Guardians and move against Pitch. Could be lingering animosity is causing Pitch to exaggerate things."

Jack looked doubtful, "Guys, I was there firsthand to know Pitch can hold a grudge but, why would Pitch hate the new Death spirit? No one holds Jokul Frosti against me."

"Before we moved against Pitch we tried to find out what caused fight with Death. Why kill fellow spirit? Spirits said Pitch and Death used to be close, like siblings. Pitch showed no remorse in killing Death, claimed Death was mad and killing spirit was necessary. He seemed proud of actions," North explained, uncomfortably.

Bunny did not blame him. Family was _rare_ in the spirit world since the fall of the Golden Age. Did not matter if it was blood relations or adopted, you held tight to those you had. That Pitch would kill is own sibling and treat it like taking out the trash... that's what always truly bothered the Guardians about Pitch. Bunny could see it bothered Jack, his face expressing too many emotions to place. 

"Okay, so what do we do?" Jack asked, his face finally settling on determined.

"Like North said, we'll look into the rumors about Death. Bunny will be watching Pitch. You could help us or Bunny," Tooth suggested. It went without saying Sandy's job was 24/7 and he could not help much without slighting the children. 

"Alright, guess I'm off to the Warren with Bunny and Pitch then. Winter is starting down there soon anyways," Jack decided, smiling mischievously at Bunny.

Aster narrowed his eyes and scowled unhappily. As if watching Pitch was not troublesome enough, now he had to babysit Frost too. Some days were not worth getting out of bed for.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! WARNING! Mentions of torture, victim-blaming, and boatloads of angst ahead. You have been warned. I think my muse for this story is in a bad mood.
> 
> Someone rec'd editminion to me for a temp and/or supplement beta. I dunno guys, it points out a lot of things that just has me go, 'so?' Still a good thing to have until I find a human beta.

With a sharp gasp Pitch sat up and clutched at his chest. Pitch closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. They were only memories, _ancient_ memories. It made no sense that memories of her caused him to react this strongly after so long. 

Was he ever going to stop mourning her?

Disgusted with himself and the knowledge that Sanderson and Frost most likely _saw_ , Pitch moved from the bed he was left in to the adjacent washroom. Not needing the light, Pitch stared at his reflection in the dark room. It always disquieted him how little time showed on spirits, on him. All the centuries, millennia, he lived through and it barely showed. His face was sharper now, any softness in his face scraped away by hard-earned experience. Even to Pitch his gaze seemed cold, eyes unwelcoming of any 'soul searching'. Such small minor details were all Pitch had to show for fifty thousand years of life.

Memories sharp with pain and the taste of blood caused Pitch to glance down at his hands. He needed the visual reassurance that cold eyes and a sharp face were the only 'scars' he bore. Pitch's stomach twisted as he noticed his whole, unmarked, hands were shaking. He let out a small bitter laugh before closing his eyes and resting his forehead gently against the cool surface of the mirror. Once, spirits called him the Nightmare King, a title he cared little for until he learned to corrupt dream sand. Now the title never felt more false to Pitch. 

Some Nightmare King he was, scared of his own memories.

_There is too much blood, a once white dress drenched in it. Black robes are drenched too but hide the horror better. That is why Pitch likes black; it hides your fears and makes them so much worse._

Pitch hissed and raised his hands to clutch at his temples.

 _He slumps down at the base of the statue. He smiles up at Pitch but the lie is obvious. There is such sorrow in the fallen spirit's eyes and it's his_ fear _that summoned Pitch._

_"I'm sorry."_

_"Are you really? What have you done that you would not do again?"_

_A laugh once boisterous turns bitter. "You know me too well, Minion."_

Pitch backed away from the mirror. He hardly noticed bumping into the opposite wall.

_"Pitch you have to stop this! Can't you see where your path is leading you? You're going to destroy yourself at this rate!"_

_"I'm doing what needs to be done! What_ has _to be done!"_

_"Fine! Refuse to see reason and continue your self-destruction. But we won't be here, not until you quit this insanity."_

"Stop," Pitch said softly, ordering his mind to obey him unsuccessfully.

 _"It's a shame our bodies don't scar," Arsenio spoke with obvious disappointment before smiling unpleasantly down at Pitch. "So I'll just have to keep 'marking' you until the memory_ never _fades."_

"Stop it. Stop it! STOP IT!" Pitch roared. Breathing heavily, he lowered his hands from his face and forced his eyes open. With a thin veneer of calm he turned on the light to the bathroom and his temporary bedroom. The sudden change in lighting brought tears of pain to his eyes but at least the hurt distracted him from his inner demons. 

Pitch moved to the center of the room and remained there, uncertain of what he should do next.

Frost decided for him as he opened the door leading to North's workshop. "Pitch! Wakey, wak- oh you're awake," the young spirit sing-songed before noticing Pitch was out of his bed.

Pitch rolled his eyes and faked irritation; secretly relieved for the distraction. "How very astute of you, Frost." He brushed past the winter spirit, more than ready to leave the room and the unpleasant memories awakened within.

"Sheesh, someone's grumpy. I thought you slept well," Frost complained as he hastily caught up to Pitch and lead the way.

"I did and then I woke up," Pitch answered tersely. Jack stared at him baffled but he was not about to clarify. He was done playing teacher to the boy.

Up ahead Bunnymund and North were in a heated argument. Pitch was as unfazed as Frost about the raised voices. He hadn't spent _centuries_ around either spirit and even he knew of the 'Easter vs. Christmas' debate. Though this argument appeared different.

"I'm telling you for the last time North, we are NOT taking your bloody sleigh!" Bunny snapped, practically snarling at the fat Russian.

"But Bunny, tunnels are not a good way to trav-" North argued, arms stretched out with his hands open in a placating nature. Pitch thought the movement more resembled a bear stretching its arms in preparation of striking. The chitter-growl of the Easter spirit indicated the pooka agreed.

"My Warren, my rules!"

Unnoticed by the holiday spirits, Pitch and Jack joined Sanderson in watching the spectacle unfold. Politely Sandy offered the two cookies and eggnog from the trays the elves left nearby.

"Not as good as popcorn but sure. Thanks Sandy," Jack said after a moment, shrugging. "So what are they fighting about now?" he asked before stuffing his face with a cookie.

**How the three of you should go to the Warren. Tooth already left. I decided to stay a little longer for the entertainment.**

"Three?" Pitch queried.

"I'm on babysitting duty with Bunny," Jack said as he grinned mischievously, no doubt referring to Pitch as the 'baby'. Pitch rolled his eyes and Sandy watched on with lazy amusement. The three settled down to watch the arguing duo but, Jack quickly grew restless. No longer entertained by North and Bunny's continued argument the boy shouted out, "Snowglobe!"

"What?" North asked.

"Let's go by snowglobe. It's fast and easy," Jack suggested, twirling his staff idly as he walked over to North and Bunny.

There was some grumbling from Bunny and North appeared a bit disappointed but the two seemed willing to accept the compromise. Pitch moved to join Jack and Bunny only to be halted by a tug on his robe. 

"Yes Sanderson?" Pitch asked and watched curiously as concern conflicted with hesitance across the sandman's face.

**You're not just here for your child. Death's... dangerous, isn't he?**

"He's insane and his madness invokes him to kill his own children. Of course he's dangerous," Pitch answered tersely, unpleasant memories too close to the surface for him to maintain his composure.

Sandy stared at him, shocked at his sudden ill-mood. Pitch sensed Sanderson's subtle fear as alarm and disgust grew on the small man's face. **You're so certain. Pitch, did Death do more than just warn you? Have you alrea-**

"Pitch, let's go already! Before Bunny and North start arguing again," Jack called out, distracting Pitch from the rest of Sandy's question. 

Not that Pitch needed to 'listen' to know the question. Have you already gotten a child killed? A simple yes was never so much harder to say. Pitch looked away from the sandman, unwilling to meet the questioning, _demanding_ , gaze.

"He usually kills the parents as well," it was as close to an admission as Sanderson was going to get. "Arsenio mentioned a siren and oni. There's undoubtedly more. Now I think both of us must be going our seperate ways."

Pitch did not look back as he joined an impatient Jack Frost and a strangely quiet Bunny. He refused to look back and see Sandy's expression. Pity, disgust, judgement; any of those emotions were too much for Pitch. 

Pitch only started to relax when the portal behind him closed.

~*~

Arsenio leaves in a rage. Pitch is unsure what the Red Death wanted from him but it is his new goal not to grant it to the monster. He has so many new goals these past few months, so many failures.

Arsenio does not yet own Pitch but, 'yet' becomes more and more the linchpin with every visit. Pitch is so tempted to leave his lair and chase the night, to never stop long enough for Death to catch him. He does not have the strength, not at the moment. Pitch must rely on his Nightmares to gather enough energy for his home to no longer be his prision.

Even then, escape from Arsenio is not possible and Pitch could do without ever meeting a bloodhound again. Like his Nightmares, the name of Death's creatures is unpleasantly literal. Even his mind scitters away from wondering where Arsenio got all the blood to make the beasts.

Hiding was not possible either. There were pockets of Pitch's lair that only he could reach but that only forestalled the inevitable. The Nightmares were Pitch's only way of collecting active belief and he needed that belief to survive, just like the Guardians do. Attempts to hide in the past left Pitch with too few Nightmares and an extra violent Death. 

Pitch is stuck fighting a losing battle.

Pitch tries to push himself up into a seating position and hoarsely screams as agony burns its way up his arms. Pitch is not sure how but he forogt Arsenio denailed him. His fingers and toes are bloody messes but worse is the exposed and injured nerves. 

The sight sickens him and with a shudder he spits out a glob of blood and bile. His tongue stings from the cuts his teeth caused. It is a mircale he still has a tongue in one piece. 

This cannot go on. Pitch knows of no way to escape _alive_ and he does not wish to die. He needs help but he cannot think of a single spirit that would answer his request for assistance.

Pitch weezes as he tries to laugh. He is stuck fighting in a war he cannot possibly win, not by himself. Pitch is too stubborn to care. Arsenio can have his consent when his corpse is already cold. He refuses to ever accept the spirit's cruel 'affections'. Pitch thinks himself a fool for ever allowing Death near him; for allowing himself to ever become so weak, unable to defend himself or child. 

Who's fault is it really that his child died before even being born? It's Arsenio's fault, isn't it? Pitch cannot help but feel that is a lie. He is not trying to defend or justify Death's murdering of his child but, it is Pitch's fault as well.

Pitch is the one that attacked the Guardians. Pitch is the one that let Arsenio copulate with him. Pitch is the one that did not listen to his instincts, his fear, and told Arsenio about the child. Is he not partly to blame for what has happened?

Pitch does not know, cannot say for certain whether he is or is not. The uncertainty is worse than any pain Arsenio gives him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So internalized victim-blaming is a common occurrence in rape victims and parents that have lost children. Since I have a lot of pet peeves concerning how rape and its effects on the victims are _unrealistically_ portrayed in fiction, I'm doing my best to make Pitch's reaction to events accurate. So I apologize for any triggering material but, I'm keeping it in because I think it needs to be here.


End file.
